Trick or Treat
by Cryptic Nymph
Summary: My first ever story! Eventually it's SherlockxJohn, but it's a bit of fluff really. To John's amazement, Sherlock has never heard of Halloween before. Something fun and simple for my first attempt, rated T 'cause I'm nervous!
1. Drunken Idiots and Chocolate

**Hi! This my first attempt at writing something... Ever, really. Bear this in mind whilst reading the unbearable cheese of my story! Please?  
Thank you so much for clicking on this. You're a star, you really are.  
A little bit of fluff because I'm no good at the serious drama deal. Maybe I'll try it, but for the moment I'll stick to ruining comedies thank you :)  
Apoligies for any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors, I was in a daze whilst writing due to the large ammount of sugar in my system.  
Plot: John is amazed to find that Sherlock has never heard of Halloween. Sherlock discovers the joy of the alcohol/sugar fuelled craziness, and perhaps something more.  
I am unsure of the rating system at the moment, but I don't think it should be more that a T. If it is, please review or message me so I can change it!**

**See you at the end!**

**Cryptic Nymph**

"Dear God Sherlock, what have you done?"

It was a cold, October evening. The leaves were falling from the trees and the nights were getting colder, but this was of no relevance to Sherlock Holmes.

"It's an experiment."

John gazed in incredulity at the human hand that Sherlock was cradling in his thin, pale arms. He appeared to be stroking it. Amazingly, this wasn't the weirdest thing that he had caught Sherlock doing during their time as flatmates.

"Well, will you at least stop experimenting in the living room?"

Sherlock glared at John like a petulant child. "Fine." He stalked away and put the hand back in the fridge. At least that was something. John placed the shopping down on the kitchen table and began to unpack it. God knows Sherlock wasn't going to help him.

Sherlock grabbed his expensive, designer coat. "John, we're going out tonight. I have some thinking to do."

"I can't tonight. I'm going to a party."

"What?" Sherlock looked shocked. "You _hate_ parties."

"I know," John sighed. "But every year Harry holds a special Halloween party, and I have to go so she doesn't drink her own body weight in alcohol. It's bad enough when I'm there!"

Sherlock scowled and sat down in the living room again. "Halloween?"

John stared at him in disbelief. "You don't know about Halloween? Seriously?"

"What does it matter?" snapped Sherlock, irritated. "I've told you before, it doesn't make any difference!"

John chuckled and sat down next to him. "Well, it's an old holiday. I think it has something to do with All Hallows Eve, where the spirits of the dead can come back for one night."

Sherlock snorted. "Rubbish."

"Well, nowadays it's just an excuse for kids to dress up and eat sweets and for adults to get drunk and have sex."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't be so stupid as to cheat on Sarah, now would you John?"

John blushed a little, and scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "There wouldn't be anything there for me to cheat on. She dumped me yesterday."

"Oh…" Sherlock started, unsure of how to deal with this delicate matter. What surprised him is how much he hated the idea of making John feel uncomfortable. He frowned.

"So I've got to go," John said quickly, changing the subject. "But I'm sure if you want to come you can. Harry loves people."

"I don't think so. Drunken idiots and chocolate? Not my idea of fun."

"But hitting a corpse with a riding crop is?" John retorted.

Sherlock glowered again. "A man's alibi depended on it."

John smiled and got up. "Ok. But if you feel like coming later, I'll leave the address on the table. I think you'd make a great vampire."

"You are seriously going in _costume_?" Sherlock lay down on the sofa.

"Well, no. But only because I can't find one that I can pull off. It's just a bit of fun, Sherlock."

"It is a ridiculous idea and I will have no part in it." He rolled over and settled into his favourite sulking pose.

John sighed. "I'll see you later then." Sherlock heard the door shut quietly behind him.

**Yeah, so it's not great. But I swear it gets better!**


	2. Showing Off His Skull

**Well done you for carrying on. This chapter has an unusually serious turn in the beginning (yet still poorly written) that I had not planned. Sherlock's thinking about death. Ooer. **

Sherlock was bored. Bored out of his mind. There was no work (the criminals of London evidently taking an evening off in order to torture him with lack of mental stimulation) and nothing to distract him. Worst of all, John was probably out getting drunk and sleeping with women at Harry's party. He felt a twinge of annoyance at the idea, though he did not know why.

Sherlock had googled Halloween once he was sure John had left. The thought of it intrigued him, though why anyone would want to go out in costumes on a Sunday night was beyond him. Apparently it was tradition to go to parties, carve pumpkins (he disliked the taste, let alone having a mutilated one in his flat) and telling ghost stories. The ghost stories were what annoyed him the most. A logical, if somewhat erratic, mind like his rejected the very possibility of ghosts. And even if they did, it occurred to Sherlock that they would have far more important things to do than haunt the living.

Or would they? Sherlock thought of all the people he'd seen lying dead. Usually in a morgue, but occasionally in an alley, or that one, horrible time in a child's bedroom.

_Don't think about that_, he thought. Sherlock told himself he was a sociopath but he had a heart. It was just that the emotions were very deep down inside him. Even Sherlock thought some things were just plain _sick_. Would the criminals that he'd helped catch haunt him once they were dead? It could not be worse than the things that haunted him now.

Though he hadn't though about those things in a while. He'd been distracted by work, and by all the annoying, idiotic people who were too slow to catch up with his brain. Having John around was a comfort, but he dreaded the inevitable day when John too would leave him. He would have to. A lifetime with Sherlock Holmes would destroy John, Sherlock knew it.

He scrolled through the page again. _Trick or Treaters,_ he thought. The phrase brought back vague memories of children dressed as witches and ghosts walking up the long driveway to his childhood house (for he could not call it a home), only to be disappointed to find no-one answering the door. As if on cue, the front doorbell rang.

"Mrs Hudson!" He yelled down the stairs. There was no answer. The doorbell rang again. "Mrs Hudson! The door!" Again, there was silence. She was clearly busy. Sherlock scowled and forced himself to answer the door.

There were three small children standing there with beaming faces. There was a girl dressed as a pumpkin, a boy dressed as a devil and another boy dressed as a mummy. Sherlock made himself smile. "You all look very… nice. Now what do you want?"

"Trick or Treat!" They said together, holding out paper bags full of chocolate.

"Don't mind if I do." He took a sweet from the bulging bag and unwrapped it.

"Hey! You're supposed to give _us _stuff!" said the girl.

"Why ever would I do that?" said Sherlock, looking puzzled.

"We dress up, shout 'Trick or Treat!' and you give us candy."

"But why?"

The girl hesitated. "I don't know. It's just what you do, ok? So give us candy or you'll get a trick!"

Sherlock shuddered at the use of the Americanism. "I'd like to see you try. I don't have anything to give you anyway, so I wouldn't waste your time."

The girl smiled at him, trying a different tactic. She appeared to be acting as spokesperson for the others, as they seemed too frightened of him to move. "C'mon, please? We came all this way."

Sherlock paused. "I can show you my skull, if you like."

The girl gathered the others into a huddle. Sherlock caught phrases like "It'll be fake" and "I wonder where he got it from?" amongst the whispers. Finally, she turned back to him.

"We've agreed that seeing the skull's worth it."

Sherlock found himself smiling. He loved a good opportunity to show off his skull.

**I thought Skully should get a mention. It's Halloween, after all.  
I wanted Sherlock to be confused by the whole idea of Halloween, so how else but with Trick or Treaters?  
My serious isn't that serious at all, but whatever. Remember, first time writer here! Don't hit me! *runs away***


	3. Love, Gum and My Super Sweet Sixteen

**WARNING: Cheese overload. It's awful. Truly terrible. But I couldn't resist! I'm sorry, ok?**

Eventually, the children had told Sherlock that they had to leave, though not before wreaking havoc in John's bedroom. It was covered in sweet wrappers and gum. Sherlock knew that John would be annoyed at him once he got back, but he felt it was a suitable punishment for leaving him on his own all evening.

Sherlock sat watching TV for a while until he could not bring himself to watch "My Super Sweet Sixteen" any longer. He personally hoped those brats would have all their hair extensions pulled out. Painfully. He glanced at the clock on the wall of the living room. Where the hell was John? Surely he could not _still _be at that damn party? He thought about what kind of party Harry Watson would have, and then worried for John's safety. He grabbed his phone.

_You're taking an awfully long time._

_Having fun, I assume?_

_SH_

He waited for a reply but none came. This made Sherlock all the more miserable. It was getting late; he wanted to go to bed. He told himself that he didn't _have _to stay up until John came back, but he found himself unable to do so. Much as he would hate to admit it, he had grown attached to the man and often worried about him if he was out too long. Sherlock scolded himself for becoming so sentimental about anyone. He should probably have never let John Watson into his life, because having a friend meant having a weakness. He couldn't afford to have an Achilles heel- he was supposed to be independent. No-one could understand his mind so he never allowed himself to become close to anyone. Until now that is.

He paced the living room, thinking hard. This relationship with John was unlike anything he had felt before. He wasn't just a flat mate, he was a friend. He didn't have friends. As Mycroft had always told him, his brother was the closest thing Sherlock Holmes could ever have to a friend. An enemy. Except he'd been stupid and let himself get a companion of sorts and now he was terrified that he might lose him. Now John was in his life he couldn't go back to being alone.

Maybe _because_ it was John.

Sherlock's mind had stopped but his body kept on going. He walked into the opposite wall and fell backwards, smacking his head off the floor. He groaned.

"Ow…" His mind was still racing. Was it possible that John meant more to him than simply a friend? He thought back to all the times they had been together, had he shown any signs? Now he thought about it, he distinctly remembered noticing that his hands felt clammy whenever he and John were out together, but he had assumed this was because of the exhilaration he was feeling, as he was usually out solving a crime.

Though not always.

He always fiddled with his hair in front of John too, though he had only just realised this particular quirk of his. He disliked his hair, it was too unruly and never looked right when he looked at it. John's hair was short and neat, and suited him perfectly. It was the perfect colour too, somewhere between brown and blond, which some might say was dull but Sherlock thought was-

He gasped. Silence rung in the empty flat. This was not good. He stared up at the ceiling, dumbfounded by the sudden realisation that he was attracted to his flat mate. It was stupid of him. Irrational. Idiotic. His heart beat like a drum in his chest (though he shuddered at the thought of using such a cliché to describe it, he must truly be in shock).

John could never know. He mustn't know, for then he would leave and Sherlock would be alone in his big, empty flat again and somehow it wouldn't feel like _his_ anymore. Not without John. He thought about _being_ with John. Sherlock blushed, but an animal like longing rose deep inside his chest that he wasn't aware he could feel.

But this was all just some crush, right? Because they'd been so close to one another lately. That was it. The feelings were purely physical (and they were _definitely_ physical alright). But as he lay on the hard floor he thought about everything he liked about John. The way he frowned when he did the Times Crossword. The way he held himself, upright and military, but friendly somehow. Even his smell, a mixture of aftershave, minty toothpaste and woollen jumpers. Sherlock groaned again. He was in love with John.

Love.

To think a former sociopath could ever fall in love with such a man. Such a bland, _ordinary_ man. Sherlock had read John like a book the first moment he saw him (except for that unfortunate moment with Harry). Once he knew everything about a person he usually got bored, but with John… He was so devoted to him that it felt unreal. He needed John like he needed the work. Otherwise not only his mind would rot, but everything else too.

***chokes* THE CHEESE! NOOO!  
**


	4. The Moustache is a Mood Killer

**Everybody needs a bit of SherlockxJohn fluff, right?**

Sherlock realised that he was panting. This was insanity. He could not let himself love John. John was a friend, a good friend, his best friend, but could never be more. For one thing John was straight. And even if he wasn't, Sherlock was sure that he would never be John's type.

Unless…

John's pupils had been dilated. On practically every outing with Sherlock, John's pupils had been dilated. At the time, he had put this down to the adrenalin, just like his clammy hands. But that too had happened at other times. Sherlock's mind flitted through memories, trying to solve the puzzle. That time when John had walked in on him in the shower. He had blushed furiously and excused himself but… John had stayed looking at Sherlock for a little too long. Was he imagining it? Surely he must have been.

But what about the time when he had fallen asleep on the sofa after a particularly long case. He had awoken to find John absentmindedly stroking his hair. Sherlock had of course pretended to be asleep to save John embarrassment and had promptly forgotten about it, but the memory flooded back into Sherlock's brain.

John had asked him to the party with him. As a friend. As a date?

"How could I have been so stupid?" He cried, jumping to his feet as nimbly as a cat. At that moment, he heard John staggering up the stairs. He sounded tired. Sherlock smoothed his clothes and attempted to flatten his hair. He was horribly aware of his height at that moment, and how John must think he was a gangly freak. He crossed his arms, waiting anxiously.

John entered the flat, holding his head and groaning. For one moment Sherlock was terrified in case something had happened to John, before he noticed a moustache drawn on his face with black marker pen. He smirked.

"John… You do know that-"

"Yes I do," he snapped back. "It was bloody Harry. I fell asleep on the sofa and she thought it would be hilarious to draw on me. It won't come off!" John looked so desperate at that moment that Sherlock had to laugh. John glared. "You wouldn't think it was funny if she'd done it to you."

"No, I wouldn't. I would be very annoyed at myself for getting into such a stupid situation in the first place."

Despite himself, John chuckled. "Will you help me? I can't seem to get it off." Sherlock stared at John for a while, wondering if it was some sort of trick. "Hello? Sherlock? You've zoned out again."

"Sorry." Sherlock tried to rub it out with his fingers but to no avail.

"I've already tried that! What do you take me for?" Sherlock didn't stop. "Sherlock?" Sherlock's hand had stopped and rested on the side of John's face.

"John…"

In that second, John realised that Sherlock knew. "Oh." Sherlock smiled. "How long?" John murmured quietly.

"I only just realised. You asked me to the party…"

"Yeah… Are you angry?"

Sherlock laughed. "No. God no, John." He pressed his lips gently against John's, scared to do much more in case John rejected him. He was pleased to find that John sank into the kiss, and felt a jolt of pleasure at the small moan that escaped John's mouth. It was soft and warm and all too good. Surely you couldn't get this much pleasure from a simple kiss? He snaked his arms around John and he soon followed suit. John's hand was entwined in Sherlock's hair again, and it made him groan.

John broke the kiss. "Bedroom?" He gasped.

"Yours."

They tumbled into the room, still kissing, before Sherlock pushed him onto the bed. John realised he was far too happy for Sherlock to be dominant in this, but as he hit the bed there was a nasty surprise. He heard a squelching noise.

"Sherlock? What the hell have you done to my bed? Is that gum? There's gum in my hair!"

Oops. He'd forgotten about those bloody kids. It was a bit of a mood killer. Before John had the chance to throttle him, he crept out the room and shut the door just in time to hear John bellow "SHERLOCK!" Sherlock grinned. Maybe he didn't mind Halloween after all. He'd got a treat.

**Yeah, the ending's pretty lame. But I'm no good at writing proper slash so I thought I'd try and give it a vaguely amusing ending. If there's anything I've done wrong (which I imagine there will be) then please let me know. I know absolutely nothing about writing fan fiction (I've been on here for a total of 2 days) and any constructive criticism would be great.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Cryptic Nymph **


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